


Silence

by timeiscontagious



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeiscontagious/pseuds/timeiscontagious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That is what we had become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

Silence.

That is what we had become.

Well, not really. We had been silent before. Even when there were laughs, there was silence. The silence of all the things left unsaid; the things neither one of us was willing to bring up. That silence we grew into. It was hard not to.

We had met at a coffee shop. Imagine. I went there every day, but I had never seen him. He walked in with his red hair and blue eyes, and that was it.

I was in love.

He came over and talked to me, and the next thing I knew we were making love in his house, on his couch, on his floor, on his bed.

I never left.

It was wrong for me to forget about reality, but I did. I lost sight of everything except him. The rest of the world became blurred except for his face. He was the only thing that was clear to me, the only thing in my life. He _was_ my life to be honest, but that I learned to regret.

After a while, his love for me began to fade. I shouldn’t even call it that because I know now that he had never loved me. To him I was just another warm body in his bed. He said I was getting too jealous, too suspicious, too bitchy.

It wasn’t that at all.

I had seen him flirt with other men, even in front of me. I had seen him exchange glances, smirks, subtle touches, but I chose to ignore it. I refused to believe that the man I loved would do that to me. I made excuses for him, blaming myself for not loving him enough. I tried harder, but that seemed to push him away even faster.

Then all of a sudden I was standing on the edge of a cliff looking over at the jagged rocks below. He had had another man in our house, in our bed. I saw his hair on my pillow, his cheap cologne permeated the sheets, the smell of their fucking was forever burned into my mind.

I confronted him about it, and he told me I was stifling him. I was too insecure, and that I could get the fuck out if this is how it was going to be.

I cried. He held me, and I asked him, didn’t he still want me?

And for once I was glad of the silence.

I had jumped off that cliff, and now I had to carry my mangled body back to reality. I had only hoped I could be fixed.

Years later, I saw him again. He was just like I remembered. Same hair, same eyes, same body, but different companion. There was another man now that would adore him, love him, be hurt by him.

I walked past them, head held high. I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but then it was gone, and so was I.

That is what I had been reduced to, another familiar face but no story that went with it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

I learned to live without a story.     


End file.
